


Fell from the sky

by DoraTLG



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bird!Q, Bond's early agent years, Hybrid!Q, M/M, Q is 16, Wings, reconvalescence, shirtless agents doing pull ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoraTLG/pseuds/DoraTLG
Summary: While out on a mission in America, Bond finds a surprising visitor in the trunk of his escape truck - it turns out some birds can't fly and some agents fall in love with mythical creatures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Be strong, my friends.

Baltimore, MD.

Leaving the city was harder than expected. Firstly, the vehicle he acquired didn't help. The dump truck he was currently driving through the forest west of Baltimore was too big, too slow, meant for simple straight driving and too able to demolish anything it touched, all things Bond HATED in a car. He loved his sleek expensive Astons that could get into small spaces and zig zag through traffic. But it was the only car not full of enemies he could dream of getting into, and that just because the enemies were slumped on the seats next to him, both sporting fatal bullet wounds in the head.

Shooting from a truck in full speed wasn't easy either, especially shooting behind himself, since behind him was only the truck. At least he was safe from bullets as long as they didn't come from his sides where only windows and doors were parting him from the outside world, both as ineffective against bullets as a sheet of paper, as Bond found out on several occasions. Don't trust films, nothing short of a bulletproof vest stops most of ammunition, and then not even that is efficient against heavy duty bullets.

Life was a tad difficult right now.

But he was alive, his heart hammering in his chest and blood rushing through his veins (and out of them in some places) was reminding him how very much alive he was. The adrenaline was making him dizzy when he wasn't busy killing people and trying not to kill other people on the road in front of him, all of which were very quickly trying to clear the path when they realized what a lunatic was driving the truck, unfortunately also giving way for the smaller cars in his pursuit.

There were two of them left now. One has crushed into an innocent car driving the other way just outside Baltimore, one went the other way and into the trees when Bond shot the driver, one was forced to stop after he luckily shot two of their tires. These two would be earning his respect by now if it wasn't so bloody easy, following a huge truck that was clearing the way for them. None of them has managed to get on any of his sides yet since the road was so narrow and busy here, and Bond was getting slightly impatient.

He glanced into the side mirror and saw that all of the civilian cars were slowing down, not wanting to have anything to do with this – finally – and that only the two cars were now behind him. Just what he was waiting for. He jumped on the break, almost flying through the front window and knocking his breath out on the wheel, and then was pushed against it even more when the cars hit the back of the truck.

There was a few seconds of silence and then another thud, but this time from above. Bond frowned, but he didn't have the time to find out what it was. Hopefully not a bomb thrown by the desperate men. He sat back, trying to find his breath, and when he recovered from the shock he immediately moved the truck again, slowly speeding to escape the crime scene.

He drove for miles, stopping when he found a gas station with a truck rest area big enough for tens of the huge machines, and parked there, in between two red trucks he paid no attention to. His calf was bleeding, but that was fortunately just a flesh wound, the bullet was stuck in the car he had to leave because of the damage it's done on the mechanics. His left cheek was sliced open and he could taste blood. Other than that he had just a few bruises, some minor, some borderline fractures, none fatal. No head injury this time. He could call himself lucky.

Finally he opened the door and stepped outside, hissing as the injured leg tried to support his weight and failed, making him slam into the side of the truck and earning himself another bruise, this time on his shoulder. He growled and straightened, gritting his teeth against the waves of pain. His first few steps leading away from the truck. Then he stopped, remembering the thud he heard before, and turned to look at the vehicle. It was probably nothing – it didn't prove to be dangerous while he was inside, so if there is anything, better leave it in case it's motion or touch triggered. And there was a whole car crash going on, what is another thud?

He stood there for a moment, trying to decide to leave, but for some reason he didn't find it so easy. In the end, his curiosity got better of him and he limped back to the truck, circling it and climbing the dumping part of it.

What he saw when he looked inside made him lose his breath again.

In the old green container lay a boy. He must have been around sixteen, lying on his side, with a fragile looking naked body, a fine structured face and black wavy hair sprawled around his head like a splash of oil. And from his back, from the fine lines of his shoulder blades, were spreading out two long, large wings.

The wings were a mix of black that was darker than his hair and orange that was as intense as a setting sun. One was stuck under his body and curled harshly against the truck's edge, the other one covered the boy's naked form, leaving only the upper part of his chest and his legs for the world to see. He was dirty, with leaves in his hair and dirt on his feet, and unconscious but breathing.

Bond has heard about hybrids. Everyone has heard about them, but not many people ever encountered them. They were stuff of legends, really – a biology lesson gone wrong, and then something completely else gone wrong. A hybrid was born when a human had sex with an animal, logically, and it was also the reason of their rarity. If a hybrid was born to a human, it was the sign of their perversion, and if to an animal, it was most likely snubbed for its deformation. In both cases, the nestling had very low chances of survival. Some hybrids, like this one, probably (Bond didn't even want to think of him being a result of the first option, due to the obvious logistic issues) were made in a lab, sometimes for amusement of the rich and powerful, sometimes in hope of growing their population. They mostly lived in sanctuaries, but Bond supposed escaping such a place wasn't hard. He wondered how this one did, though, and why did he end up in his dump truck.

He should leave now. Wild hybrids were not people. They were not LIKE people. They didn't like humans for the obvious reasons – the reasons some humans didn't like humans – and were best left alone. If they crossed into the rural areas, they acted as a bird that accidentally flew into a room, frantically searching for exit, hitting the walls in its panic. But Bond couldn't make himself leave the child there. Because that's what he was, a teen, a very fragile and defenceless boy caught in a situation that could cause him his life. If anyone found him, he'd be in mortal danger. Bond didn't have much hope in people. If the police or the cartel found the truck, he would either go back to a sanctuary, or become a toy of Torsel and his men, and Bond felt like both those options would kill the poor thing. He had that kind of urge you have when you find a squirrel in your garage, to let it out and into the nature, to live peacefully and without people, but he also couldn't just lay the young man on a ground in the forest. And if the unconsciousness was any indication, the hybrid had a head injury, probably a concussion, and would need some time to find his footing.

He looked around, having a nice view from the elevated position, and saw the parking lot for small vehicles. He jumped down, almost falling to the ground and swearing for not being more careful. He walked to the edge of the row of cars, away from families and curious bystanders, and reached into his pocket for a little key like device issued by Q branch. He particularly loved this one. He slowly stuck it into the key hole, waiting for it to assemble into the shape of the original key thanks to its many very movable parts, and then snapping it in place with a little button so it would be easier to use it on the ignition. When he opened the door and sat inside, he started the car without a problem, and once again praised Boothroyd for his tricks. It wasn't the most useful tool in a rush, but in situations like this... heaven.

He drove the car to the truck, opened the trunk and found a toolbox with al sizes of screwdrivers. He picked one, crouched by the truck and started taking off the licence plate. He repeated that three more times, taking off all the licence plates of the two vehicles, and then switching them. The police was looking for a truck with the licence plate currently on a small sedan, and the owner of the sedan will be looking for a small car with the licence plate currently on a huge dump truck. Fooling the system was never easier.

Finally done, he straightened, threw the screwdriver into the trunk, shut it and climbed into the container, this time stepping in. Lifting the young man up was surprisingly much more difficult than he imagined, the wings making his body into something Bond never encountered, and adding weight to his slender frame. Finally he managed to lift him up and throw him over his shoulder, climbed down, and pushed him into the back seat.

Driving away from this crime scene was much easier and calmer than the last time.

 

 

He called MI6 from the first payphone he found after crossing from Maryland to Virginia, and made them immediately rent him a safe place to stay, saying he had a concussion and too many bruised bones to get to the airport, and after a short argument which he won, they stopped sending him into the nearest hospital and just googled AirBNB. He didn't say anything about the hybrid in his back seat. He was loyal to MI6, but that didn't mean he thought they were without fault. M wouldn't blink twice before taking the young man into custody, maybe even making him a recruit just for the hell of it.

Two hours later, he was exiting the car in front of a cabin in the woods. It was small and charming, but all he hoped for was running water and two big beds, one for him and one for the wings of his new friend.

For the hundredth time he scolded himself for taking him in. This will only be trouble. Huge trouble. But his life was about jumping into trouble, wasn't it? His livelihood depended on him being almost killed on a day to day basis, much to the irony of his life. And no one can blame him from not embracing that life.

The insides of the cabin were cosy and family friendly. There was one bedroom with a king sized bed which Bond immediately loved and hated, and his hate had nothing to do with the thirty cushions littering it; a kitchen with a wooden table and bench instead of chairs; a small living room with a TV; and a bathroom with running water and a small shower corner. The whole house was full of wooden furniture and handmade cushions, blankets and all the types of spreads and cloths humanity has thought of. It was a holiday dream and Bond's worst nightmare. And everything was, for some reason, green.

He found the key under a flower pot outside the front door, so he didn't have to meet anyone and went straight in. After making sure the house was safe, he carried the hybrid into the bedroom and laid him on the bed, where his wings immediately took up all the space AND knocked over the lamps from the bedside tables, confirming Bond's suspicion about where he'll be sleeping. The couch it is then. Well, at least it's full of those soft cushions.

He thought about waking the boy up. Being unconscious like this meant only one thing – a very serious head injury, and it would be getting worse every hour asleep. Plus if he wakes up when Bond is asleep, the confusion may destroy the whole house, or at least everything the wings can push over, and hurt himself. He decided to rouse him now, before the shower, while the adrenaline is still keeping him upright.

He crouched by the boy, took hold of his shoulders and shook him slightly, knowing that it will hardly work after all that carrying him around didn't. A few slaps on the cheeks didn't help either, so he went to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. A minute later, the boy's face was drenched and not a step closer to waking up. But when a few droplets landed on the feathers of his wings, they moved in a slight shiver, giving the first sign of life apart from the steady rise of his chest.

Bond crouched again, watching them. The water stayed on the feathers in droplets, so Bond suspected that the wings were coated in a light layer of oil to keep them safe from rain and drenching in bodies of water if the hybrid wanted to drink from a lake and his wings breached the surface. He outstretched a hand, thinking that if it won't wake him up, at least he'll get a chance to inspect the appendages. He laid his palm on the underside of his right wing and stroked it, his fingers carding through the soft, short feathers at the base and then the longer and longer ones, but before he could trace the long endings of the wing, the whole mass has moved in a powerful wave that shook his hand off.

He turned his attention to the boy's face to see if he was waking up or just reacting in his sleep, and could see a frown forming between his eyes, in the crease of his eyebrows, and the hair brushed the grass coloured pillow under his head as he turned his head, huffing short puffs of breath from his nose. Bond did it again, this time getting even less time to stroke the feathers, and then ran out of patience and pulled at some.

The wing flapped so aggressively Bond could feel the air ruffle his hair just before he got a mouthful of feathers and was almost toppled onto his back, but before he could end up sprawled on the floor, caught the side of the mattress and stood still, waiting for his view to clear. When the wing drew back, he caught a glimpse of the boy's confused, drowsy eyes, and quickly extended his hand to block the next wing attack. That didn't help the situation, only made the hybrid focus on him, assess him as a threat, and panic. He scrambled up on the bed, using his wings as a support, beating the side of Bond's forearm. The whole time, he was making little frantic sounds in the back of his throat.

“Don't be afraid!” Bond tried to talk reason to him, but he already knew there was little hope the creature would understand him. He tried to cease his wings to calm him down and failed, only making him more defensive.

“I'm a friend! I saved you! You are safe!”

The hybrid drew his wings back from Bond's reach and curled them around his whole body, now perched on the cushions. Only his head was visible, big eyes staring at Bond, and he was struck with how much he resembled a bird just then.

But it seemed the boy was finally listening. So he tried it again.

“You are safe,” he was saying with his hands up in front of his chest to show he isn't going to hurt him. “Do you understand?”

The boy was silent for a little more, then nodded.

“Good,” Bond sighed in relief, happy that at least, if nothing more, a basic level of communication could be achieved. “Can you speak?”

Another moment of silent gazing, then a short nod. James wondered how the boy learned, where was he from. How did he end up in the back of his truck. If he'll ever tell him.

“My name is James,” he said. “What's yours?”

This time, the boy's eyes flicked away from him and at various places of the room, surveying it in a second, then back at him before he could move.

“Q,” he finally answered, in a voice much deeper than Bond expected.

“Q?” Bond repeated and the way he said it sounded much less bird like, like when you say a foreign name after the foreigner has told you and your accents are completely different. But the boy nodded.

“Alright. Good,” Bond tried to think of anything soothing to say. For a crazy moment, we wanted to start co-cooing. In the end he decided to just explain the situation, hoping that the hybrid was intelligent enough to understand. “I found you in my truck. You fell there in Maryland, but I didn't stop to check and only saw what... who you are in Virginia. We are currently eighty miles from where you were last awake.”

He could see the calculations in the big hazel eyes. Then he closed the with a deep pained frown.

“My head hurts,” he whispered.

“You probably have a concussion. Do you feel like throwing up?”

Q nodded and Bond stood up, which made Q open his eyes and tense up again, but the agent just went to the bathroom and brought back a bucket he saw there earlier. He showed it to Q and then placed it next to the bed, saying “If you have to, use this. The cabin isn't mine.”

Q nodded again. His wings eased a bit, the ends curling loosely in the sheets and showing more of the boy's chest.

Bond had questions, so many questions, but he didn't want to make the boy feel overwhelmed and tense again, so he backed off, mentally and physically.

“I'll leave you alone to sleep it off. Please, don't go away. I'm a friend. I'll go buy us food in the morning, and it's safe and warm here,” he tried not to pointedly look at the boy's naked frame. “I'll be sleeping outside this room, in the living room on a couch, if you need me.”

He waited for Q to acknowledge with another nod and left the room, hoping that his arguments made him feel at ease, or at least made him not look for an escape route the second the door closed behind him.

He remembered he wanted a shower too late, but the bathroom was only accessible from the bedroom, so he just wetted a tea towel in the kitchen and cleaned the wound on his calf before pouring a whole shot bottle of vodka he found in the mini bar on it, hissing as the pain got much worse than at any time since he gained the injury. His jaw hurt from the effort he put into gritting his teeth against each other instead of screaming in agony. When disinfected, he downed another three of those mini bottles and went to the living room.

He found a blanket in one of the closets and made himself a nest – how fitting – on the couch, and fell asleep three seconds after he hit the cushions.

 

 

He woke up to a loud banging noise. He jolted upwards, turning his head in the direction of the fuss and focused his eyes on a silhouette in the hallway. The sun hasn't come up yet, the cabin was dark, but Bond's memory quickly linked the strange shape of a winged person to the hybrid.

Next he noticed that the boy was leaning against the wall heavily, and that a lamp has fallen from one of the useless little cabinets that stood in the hallway. The boy was probably disoriented and his sense of equilibrium has been compromised by the head trauma.

Bond rose slowly, wincing at the aching in his whole body and the sharp pain from his leg, and limped towards the boy, who tensed and drew his wings closer to his body, but didn't back up.

“Are you alright?” Bond rasped out and then coughed to clear his throat. The boy nodded.

“Come on, you need more sleep. What did you want to do?” he reached out his hands, trying to work out where should he touch Q to lead him back, whether the wings or the naked shoulders were more sensitive, and then settled on the shoulders, remembering that touching the wings woke him up better than slapping his face. Q let him turn his body in the direction of the room again, and walked on unsteady feet to the bed.

“I wasn't trying to leave,” he said quickly and Bond recognized fear in his voice. He frowned but didn't say anything until the boy was in the bed again, under the covers.

“I am not keeping you here, Q,” he said finally. “You can leave if you want to. I just honestly think you won't make it in this condition. But I promise you that when you feel alright, you can leave. And I'll leave. This is not my place, we are both in an unfamiliar house.”

Q's big eyes were studying him for a while, then he nodded again.

“Whose house is this?” he asked.

“It's a cabin I rented because I was injured and I didn't know what to do with you. When we feel better, we can leave. I'll leave where I want to and you leave where you want to. Is that alright?”

Q nodded again, but not until he studied Bond's face some more. Bond was getting the feeling that the hybrid knew something about being in a place where he didn't want to be, so maybe he really did spend some time in a sanctuary or in a golden cage. He wanted to make him feel safe, not like he fell into another trap. He wanted to make him sure he's a free bird.

Before he could leave and close the door behind himself, Q asked another thing.

“Why did you take me with you?”

He opened the door more to look at him and considered it.

Good question.

“I seem to do it an awful lot.”

He closed the door and went to collapse onto the couch again.

 

 

The hardest part of the next day was finding clean clothes to wear that didn't make Bond look like... well, exactly what he was, a killer on a run. He searched the car and found an old pair of trousers that was size too small and covered in grease but at least clean of blood, and had to stick to his old shirt, which was sweaty and smudged but had zero bullet holes and blood stains, therefore passing for an appropriate piece of clothing.

Having a shower was another matter, which required him to interact with Q on a level he didn't think he ever would be interacting on with a bird hybrid – the wonder of closed doors. The cabin, for some unfathomable reason, didn't have locks on the inner doors, and Q was unfamiliar with the concept of privacy while naked, and probably privacy in general. Bond wasn't one to sweat over such things either, so he didn't say a word when the hybrid walked in on him in the shower, completely ignoring him as he started drinking from the faucet, then splashing water onto his body, letting it pool around his ankles. Bond briefly considered telling him he could use the shower after him, but then decided that with his wings, it would be better to stay away from uncontrolled streams of water. Besides, the young boy was, again, resembling a bird bathing in a small pool on a road so much it fascinated Bond. He caught himself appreciatively eyeing his slender but strong body and realized that it was for other reason than just pure curiosity.

He scolded himself internally. He was a thirty year old man, for crying out loud, and this boy was hardly of age in most of the countries Bond frequented. Counting in the fact that they weren't even the same species, any contact of a sexual character was already doomed if not by morals, then by every Christian born after the eighteenth century, and some scientists.

Also, was Q considered closer to people or to birds? Would it be zoophilia?

Bond had to stop thinking about this.

Although, technically...

“How's the head?” he asked to cut his train of thought. He stopped the shower and got out. The towels were fluffy and big and for a while he had an undignified desire to take ten of them and roll in them like a two year old.

“Hurts,” Q said with his whole head in the sink. When he emerged, his hair was soaked in, how Bond discovered when the boy shook himself violently, ice cold water. He pushed back his need to swear and instead just wiped his face and chest again when Q stopped sending the cold spray all over the walls and him.

“Will you be alright here alone? I have to go buy us food and some clothes. And toiletries. I don't suppose you have a preferred brand of toothpaste?”

Q looked at him with a confused expression on his face and Bond nodded to himself more than him.

“I thought so. Is there something you like to eat? Something you don't?”

Q thought about it for a second, then straightened up and shook his shoulders.

“Anything is good.”

Bond nodded his agreement. He was trying very hard not to waver with his eyes, looking only at the boy's face, but the fact that they were both naked in a very small and quite warm room was making him more uncomfortable than he thought possible. Normally he was the king of cool, and he might have been even in this situation, if looking down didn't mean possibly sexually harassing a minor.

“How old are you, Q?” he had to ask. Maybe if he just looked so young and was actually in his twenties, he wouldn't think of himself as a creep. Either way, he started putting his clothes on.

“I was fifteen when...” Q stopped and Bond metaphorically kicked himself in the guts. Fifteen?!

“When?” he tried. But Q was biting his lip now as if he already said too much.

“You won't take me back?” he asked hesitantly.

“I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go,” Bond said. He technically could, if Q was really so young and didn't know better, but even if the place Q left was a good place for him, Bond was no one to mingle into his business. He wouldn't have appreciated it if someone tried to take him back to his aunt when he decided to live on his own, or if they dragged him back to Eton after he left.

“I was kept at the Centre of Experimental Breeding in Wisconsin. I escaped last winter.”

“Escaped?”

Q nodded, nervous. Bond considered asking more, but chose to go shopping first and then, when they are both clothed (sixteen, maybe seventeen, he so needs clothes) and fed. So he told him to do what he wanted in the house and left for Washington.

He stopped at the first Walmart he found on the way. It was easy to buy food and some absolutely hidious clothes for himself. It was much less easy to do the same for Q. Food was one thing – he spent several minutes wondering through the aisles of the food section until he finally decided that if nothing he already bought was good enough, he could just feed him bread and ham for the short time they would stay together, hoping that that is the kind of food that wouldn't kill a bird. Same treatment received the clothes – after trying to find the right size, losing himself in the American numbering, he just grabbed a pair of sweats with adjustable waist and a t shirt and left the store, grabbing a phone and a sim card on the way out as an afterthought.

Without paying, of course, since he had absolutely no money and figured that he stole enough from civilians. Stealing was easy – he just changed into some of the things he wanted to „buy“, grabbed a plastic bag from behind the counter, put all the food and clothes in it, and walked out. When the alarms at the door started ringing, he turned with a surprised expression, frowned, looked at the security, they looked at him, they both shrugged and he left.

Confidence is the key.

On the way back he dug out his phone and called MI6 about the ramifications of his mission. Eve Moneypenny assured him that it was a success and no further action will be required, he is on a leave and can do the debriefing when he gets back unless it's more than a week after. He assured her that he won't be long.

He felt actual relief when he walked into the house and found Q sitting in his nest on the couch. He should have known that the soft blankets and cushions would attract the hybrid. He even pushed a an armchair s it was facing the couch and created himself a small round space where he curled and fell asleep, using his wings as a cover. Bond stood above him for a while, drinking in the fantasy like picture, then left to the kitchen before the boy could wake up under his stare. He made breakfast for himself, laying out all the items he bought on the counter instead of putting them in the fridge and cupboards, so Q could choose what to teat when he woke up.

Which eventually happened around noon. He stumbled into the kitchen where Bond was reading one of the books he found in the enterteinment centre. He managed enough concentration to keep his wings in check, tightly fitted against his back, so he didn't overturn anything on his way.

„Good morning,“ Bond said offhandedly, not looking up from his book, wich took him a lot of effort. Staring at the hybrid was simply very tempting. Not because of his nakedness, simply because he was something akin a mythical creature, something you saw in fairytales and fiction, not in real life. Bond saw his share of crazy things in the last ten years of his duty, first as a NAVY officer, then an MI6 agent, and lastly a double oh agent, which was a title as fresh as his morning coffee, but this was so far the most amazing of them. A few years ago, before he sobered up, before he saw the pain the world was in, before his first kill, he would have been extatic with this turn of events. Now he was just catiously enjoying the strange feeling overwhelming him at some moments, like when the tip of one of the wings grazed his thigh just now.

„Have anything you like,“ he said to the boy and Q surveyed the food with caution. „Anything,“ Bond said again. It looked like the hybrid was in great need of nutrition and too scared to just eat his food.

„I also bought you clothes,“ he continued, this time with a tad of caution. „I'm not sure if you're used to them, but I'd prefer if you had something on while you're in here.“

That made the boy focus on his face for an uncomfortable time with a neutral expression that Bond could not identify closer. Then it eased and Q blinked.

„I'll dress,“ he said. Then he turned to the counter and started closely studying the groceries, picking some and sniffing others, until he found a jar of jam, smelled it and his eyes got an intrigued look. He looked at Bond as if for comfirmation, and when the agent nodded that he can do whatever he likes with the jar, he sat down with it and a spoon and opened it.

„Wait,“ Bond stood up and couldn't miss the flinch from the hybrid, an apologetic expression that he hoped he'd never see again. Instead of saying anything to calm him down, he decided that actions are louder than words and took toasting bread from the counter, quickly fixing him a jammed toast. He hoped that Q's stomach wasn't bird like, knowing that in case it was it could glue it shut.

„Try now,“ he offered and sat down again. Q picked up the toast and bit into it. His eyes comically widened while he chewed and Bond was smiling by the time he was eating his second bite, the look of pure surprised joy brightening his mood.

„How are you feeling?“ he asked after a while. Q swallowedhis mouthful and took a break from eating for long enough to answer.

„Better,“ he said and was back to eating. Bond suspected that his appetite was a good sign. „My head hurts,“ Q continued between bites. „And my balance is bad.“

„So I guess you can't fly just yet,“ Bond said. Q looked at him with a wince and stopped eating for a minute.

„I'm not good at flying,“ he said. „That's why I crashed. They didn't let us fly at the sanctuary, I only started learning after I escaped.“

Bond nodded and Q went back to eating.

„So you need to learn,“ Bond said simply. „I think the reason why you failed was that these forests are way too dense and populated. You need an open space safe from people.“

Q looked up with the most adorable frown on his face – and when did Bond start calling him adorable? „Are you not human?“ Q asked, confused. Bond realized how it must have sounded from him, and the realization that Q might not have seen many creatures and thought Bond might be something other then human, amused him to no end, as much as it saddened him.

„Yes,“ he leaned on his elbows. „But you were lucky to fall into my car. Some people would use you for their own profit.“

„Like at the sanctuary,“ Q nodded offhandedly in between bites. 

„What did they do to you there?“ Bond couldn't help but ask. Q finished his sandwich and looked at him while sucking his fingers clean. Bond had to avert his eyes – not good, being aroused by a very young mythical creature.

He looked into Q's eyes instead, and the hybrid held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged. He clearly didn't want to talk about it, so Bond dropped the topic.

“You need to go somewhere else,” Bond decided after a moment of silence. Q looked at him sadly and Bond realized that he thought he was kicking him out, so he explained: “You need to learn how to fly and this is not the right location for it. You need a lot of open space, and with your size I'd say… mountains would be best, hills with no trees, some rocks to dive from. Maybe something over a lake so when you fall, you don't kill yourself,” he thought some more. Then he stood up, went to the bag of stolen goods, and fished out the phone. It took him several minutes to make it work and find the password to the wifi, but when he did, the first think he googled was the nearest park.

He sat down again. Q was watching him the whole time, still sat at the table, still uncomfortably naked - wasn't he cold?

“There is a national park very close to here, just a few hours' drive. I can take you there. If…” he looked up at the hybrid. “If that's what you want.”

He realized he didn't know if the hybrid was supposed to live on his own, in the nature. He didn't know if he could. Surely they knew how to survive if they were born in the wild, but Q was kept in captivity for who knew how long, would he be able to cope?

“What's it called?” Q asked, which surprised Bond – he didn't know basic information about human beings but wanted to know a random name? But he answered.

“Shenandoah National Park.”

Q's reaction surprised him – the hybrid perked up at the name, his eyes lightning up, and he sat upright, as if a bolt of electricity suddenly hit his body. “That's it!” he said, excitedly. “That's where I'm from!”

Bond raised his eyebrows.

“What do you mean, that's where you're from? The sanctuary?”

“No, no!” Q shook his head vigorously. “I remember that name, that was where my parents lived when they took me!”

“Who took you?” Bond frowned. Q hesitated, but his obvious desire to explain things won over him in the end.

“When I was little, people came to my home and took me. I don't know what happened to my parents, I was alone playing outside. The people took me to the sanctuary and kept me… until I escaped. I was trying to look for home ever since but I can't fly and... I was too little… I don't remember…”

“Q, calm down,” Bond laid a hand, unthinkingly, on the young man's forearm in effort to cease his growing panic. The hybrid was obviously traumatized by the events he talked about, and probably never talked about them to any living person, if he was isolated in the sanctuary.

Surprisingly, Q didn't flinch at the touch as violently as Bond was expecting the second he realized his mistake. He younger man did startle, but the shock helped him stop thinking about his panic, and for a while he just stayed very still, his big eyes looking at the hand laid on his own. Then he blinked several times and looked up.

“I'm sorry,” Bond said, but didn't take the hand away. He should have. He knew he should have. But for unexplainable reasons he just couldn't. The hybrid's skin was so warm, so pleasant to touch – Bond suddenly felt touch starved, as if he didn't hold a living person in years, even though it was just a few days ago that he seduced a very pretty young thing to his bed. 

The moment between them lasted just a few seconds, but Bond was confused by it for hours afterwards. When he finally took the hand off of Q, the hybrid visibly relaxed, his shoulders slacking.

“I can drive you there,” Bond said, his voice surprisingly raspy. “Not yet, because you have a concussion, but when your head clears up.”

Q blinked several times, looking at Bond as if he saw him for the first time. It took him a while to find the words, and when he did, it seemed he wasn't happy with them. “I…” he started. “Thank you!” a pause, then again. “Thank you, I…” frustrated, he looked around, then back at Bond. “I don't know how to thank you.”

It wasn't a polite way to express gratitude – Q was actually having problems expressing it. He probably felt more of it than could be said by simple words and felt inadequate. Bond knew that feeling when he was young, but not anymore, having learned that people doing nice things for you didn't mean you had to give them the world for it, but Q was a different case – he suddenly reminded Bond of the child he used to be, confused after his parents died, for years not able to find his place in the world.

In a last attempt at normalcy, Q hesitatingly extended his thin hand, and touched Bond's hand just as Bond touched his before. It was a strangely innocent gesture that broke Bond's heart to a million pieces. Q's big eyes looked even bigger, staring at their hands. Then he looked up.

“Are you sure you are human?” he asked. Bond laughed in shock and bitter humour.

“Not all the time,” he said, but meant it completely differently than Q did.

 

He eventually got Q to put on some trousers and spent a whole half an hour deciding what to do with him. If Q were a human, he would simply turn on the TV and leave him to it, maybe make him some tea and wrap him in a blanket, but Q probably never saw a TV and though as hilarious as it would be to watch him stare at the screen with those huge eyes and walk around it, trying to figure out how it worked, he didn't think it would be a good idea to let him get used to technology and then send him to the wilderness. Books were a better option, but with a concussion, it would make him only worse – and then Bond remembered that he probably couldn't read anyway. They couldn't play games because Q didn't know any and Bond would blow up the house out of boredom, and they weren't great at talking. Either of them. 

Fortunately, the hybrid was too tired to care anyway. Bond did make him tea, sat him in front of an open fire, and watched his head toppled on the back rest. He then made him lie down and wrapped him in said blanket. It was long before sunset, but sleep was good for Q at this point, so he let him to it and instead sat down opposite him with a book.

Reading was never harder. He couldn't keep his focus on the words for longer than a minute. His eyes kept constantly sliding to the body on the couch, either thinking about everything that happened so far and spacing out, or paying close attention to every move the other man did. Boy, actually. Bond watched his fragile features, his completely unwrinkled face, long fingers resting by his head, dark curls hovering over his closed eyes which Bond remembered were full of wariness and strange wisdom. Q was a confused, inexperienced boy lost in a complicated world, but from the moment his eyes met Bond's, he felt his intelligence as if it was a higher power. And for all Bond knew, it might have been. Birds were born with incredible skills. No one educated them on how to fly or when to migrate, through were and how, it was all in their genetic code – incredible information they developed through evolution. People were stupid nobodies compared to them. Maybe if Bond and Q were in the same position, young, lost, ad equipped only with their basic knowledge of life, Bond would be the one dying first.

After an hour and two pages into his book, he pulled out the new phone – it was quite a good one, he had to admit distractedly – and started googling hybrids. Many of the articles he read until Q woke up included either facts he already knew or what he saw with his own eyes, but there were things he learned that amazed him. Hybrids healed faster, but their life span was much shorter, only about fifty years. They were protected by the law in most countries of the world, including all the US states, and any form of captivity was a crime apart from three sanctuaries around the world, from which neither was anywhere near Virginia. That meant that whoever took Q when he was a child was not doing it for his benefit. Bond felt a strange protective stab of anger at the thought of what must have happened at that place that made Q so guarded. Maybe it was because he was out in the “wild” for the first time, and Bond was a stranger, but there was a chance the hybrid went through hell, and Bond didn't know if he wanted to find out what kind of hell.

Q's nap turned out to last five hours. Bond finally moved from efforts to read to more dynamic pastimes. He first went for a run through the forest to clear his head, completely ignoring his injured leg, then chopped wood even though the house was fully stocked with it, and lastly made himself an improvised outdoor gym. He started his training at hands and moved to core, giving each half an hour, which was straining at best, stupid at medium and dangerous at worst. It was definitely painful as hell, what with his bruises and cuts, but Bond was nothing if not an idiot when it came to self preservation.

When Q emerged from the house and found him, he was in the middle of complicated pull ups in which he pulled himself up on a decorative frame straining under his weight, swung up as if he wanted to jump on top of it, but stopped mid-move and swung down again, the muscles on his arms tense as he never let himself fall completely. Then, before doing another rep, he brought his legs up, raising them higher and higher, and criss-crossed for ten seconds before letting them down and repeating the whole exercise. 

When he noticed Q standing just a few feet away from him, his wings almost touching the frame, he jumped down and took a deep breath. His muscles were burning,, his heart beating fast, and sweat was running down his face and making wet patches on his t shirt. He swallowed the spit gathering in his mouth as he watched Q stare at him with curiosity and wonder, as if he never saw anything like him.

“Why do you do that?” he asked finally, tilting his head to the side like a dog.

“I'm training my muscles to be stronger,” Bond replied. “Same way your wings need training to keep you in the air. They're probably not strong enough, that's why you fell.”

Q seemed to think about that, but his gaze was roaming Bond's body, making him shiver. He was used to attention, either when dressed in a suit or naked with a partner, but he had to admit that even he never was with a person so young and it was making him uncomfortable, plus the hybrid's eyes were incredibly intense and his attention like a scorching fire.

“Would it help if I did the same?” he finally moved his head in the direction of the frame.

“I don't think you could do the same,” Bond said with doubt, but then remembered that Q was not a human, so maybe his strength was different than his. “But you can try.”

He positioned him under the frame and told him to jump up and grip it tight. Then he moved to his front and Q tried to pull himself up, which he did with the help of his wings. They swung powerfully and suddenly he was up, and dust was flying around them and sticking to Bond's wet t shirt. 

“Come down!” he called to Q. The young man landed in front of him. “Try to leave your wings out of it,” he instructed. “Jump up again but hang from the frame.”

Q did, his wings still restless.

“Relax your wings,” Bond said and moved to his side, touching the appendages and trying to smooth them with his hand. He could feel them shiver and Q breathed out audibly, but no stronger reaction happened, which made Bond's stomach untangle. The wings finally relaxed so much they hung from Q's body, their tips touching the ground. “Now pull yourself up, just with your hands.”

It happened in a second – Q tensed his muscles and suddenly the wings shot up and knocked Bond from his feet.

He fell onto the ground, holding his aching nose, and Q jumped down next to him, touching his shoulders and apologizing frantically.

“I'm sorry! I can't turn it off!” he explained as Bond groaned and checked if his nose wasn't broken. Fortunately, it didn't even start bleeding.

“It's alright,” he pushed himself up again. “But you first have to learn how to isolate.”

He spent the next hour teaching Q how to isolate his body from his wings and then how to do push ups, until the hybrid complained about his headache getting stronger again and Bond cursed himself for not remembering it. He had a reason though – he realised that making Q physically stronger might help him in the long run. After all, he wanted to leave him in the same national park where he was already abducted once. Q needed all the physical strength he could get. And Bond had an idea of how to help him fly.

They ate, this time a proper meal Bond cooked – steak, he didn't even buy chicken or turkey because it felt weird to even think about feeding it to Q, and then Bond made fire again. It was getting dark and they were getting tired again.

Q was sitting on the couch, watching the flames dance, when Bond picked up his book and brought the hybrid's attention to him.

“What is that?” he asked.

Bond looked up from the book, forming the thoughts that felt fundamental to him.

“It's a book,” he said finally. “Every word we say can be written down with a number of signs. And when you know the signs, you can read them – understand them. It's like reading what whoever wrote it is saying. This is a story book.”

Q looked very curious at that.

“Can I see?” he asked, leaning in. Bond outstretched his hand and Q took the book from him. He opened it and studied the pages, brushing the tips of his fingertips against the paper.

“What's the story about?” he asked, still focused on the book. 

“I don't know, actually,” Bond said, realizing that even the little he read makes no sense in his mind. “I just started reading.” Then, he had an idea, and before he could dismiss it as stupid, he blurted: “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Q's eyes snapped to him, interested. He nodded and gave the book back to him. Bond opened it on the first page and leaned back in the chair.

“It was a nice day,” he started reading. “All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But clouds massing east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one. The angel of the Eastern Gate put his wings over his head to shield himself from the first drops.” He stopped, realizing how similar angels were to Q, and looked up to see that the hybrid was suddenly alert, his wings spread and his whole body posture tense as if he was about to fly out of the window, but his face was excited.

“Wings?” he asked. “What's an angel? Is it like me?”

Bond shook his head, then hesitated. “They look like you,” he said slowly. “But they are not real. They're just a fairytale.”

Then he thought about how he thought that hybrids were a fairytale when he was small… but he was too tired to think about the possibility of that. Q looked saddened by his comment though, so he tried to explain.

“Angels are mythical creatures from the bible. You don't need to know about the bible,” he decided immediately, not seeing a reason why he should bother Q with theology. “They look like you, like people with wings, and live in heaven, in the sky. They watch over people, help them… they are the good guys.”

Q tilted his head in consideration again. Then he said: “Like you.”

A surprised little laugh tore from Bond. “I am really nothing like an angel, Q,” he said. Q just pursed his lips before answering.

“You don't look like one,” he nodded. “But you act like it.”

Bond blinked a few times. Based on what Q saw of him… yes, maybe he came out that way. But Q had no idea who he really was. No idea what he did for a living. He didn't know his thoughts, very non-angelic indeed.

It felt off to be considered an angel… but exactly for the reason why he wasn't one, it also felt good. The nasty creature living in his chest purred happily under the admiration of such a wonderful, innocent creature. He lowered his eyes to the book again.

“"I'm sorry," he said politely. "What was it you were saying?"” he read aloud.

Q sat back on the couch and listened. After just a few pages his eyes started drooping, and at page ten he fell asleep with his wings wrapped around him like a security blanket. When Bond saw he was out, he put the book down, stood up and bent to pick the lithe body up. His wings were the heaviest part of him, but now they weren't flapping around him, it wasn't so hard to scoop him up and into his arms. He expected Q to wake up and panic, but hoped that seeing him wouldn't cause a dramatic reaction anymore. What he definitely didn't expect was that when Q's eyes half opened and he looked at him, his body curled even tighter in his grasp, his eyes shutting again and a little sigh escaping his lips as he turned his face and pressed it against Bond's chest.

Bond's stomach made a flip. There was something warm inside it that was curling in pleasure at the actions of the young man. He carried him into his room, careful not to bump his head or feet anywhere, but he couldn't let go of him so easily when he reached the bed. Instead, he sat on it, denting the mattress, and cradled the sleeping body in his arms a little longer, thinking about all the ways he could be fucked because of one good deed.

He promised himself that after this one, he is done with them.

 

Q woke up at the touch of the morning sun on his face. He was lying in the bed he woke up in the day before, under a light blanket and his own wings. His head was still hurting, but unless he moved around too quickly, it was just a mild inconvenience instead of the throbbing pain he was experiencing the whole previous day. His body was a different matter – he couldn't find a single muscle that wouldn't be sore. He contemplated staying in bed, enjoying its incredible softness, which he never knew before, but his stomach made him get up and go search for food.

Bond was not up yet but the fridge was full and Q hoped it would be alright if he ate something. He didn't know lots of the food items in there, but he liked fruit so he took an apple, sat on the table – which was much more comfortable than anything with a back rest – and munched on it with satisfaction.

By the time he was done, Bond was still not up. Q listened to the birds chirping outside, wondering why they did that – he was supposed to be partly a bird, yet didn't understand them much. He never tried talking to them and now felt like maybe it would be a good idea to try and learn something about them.

However, his bonding time with the nature could wait until Bond was there to save him in case the birds weren't as friendly as they sounded. He got off the table and walked around the house, peeking into rooms, looking for the older man. He somehow felt much safer when he was around him. He could smell blood and dirt on him even though he was clean, and at first that made him fear him more than anyone, but the day they spent together made him understand that Bond was nicer than any human he ever met, and if he smelled like danger, it must have been to warn off other predators, not prey like Q.

Q opened the door next to his room and found what he was looking for. Bond was in the bed in the centre of the room, only half covered by a crumpled comforter. The morning light didn't yet reach his face, instead illuminated the broad surface of his chest and shoulders. Q walked to the bed silently, only his wings making a soft brushing sound in the air, and crouched down by the man. He looked so peaceful like this – his hair was messy from the sleep, cast on the pillow around his head; the creases of his face were almost invisible, making him look so much younger, only the cut on his cheek breaking the illusion; and Q had a hard time taking his eyes off of his chest, his wide shoulders, his strong arms – for reasons he didn't understand. 

The other man, apparently, had a very thin sleep, because as Q was studying his face very carefully from just inches apart, he suddenly jerked and his eyes flew wide open, his whole body going tense. They stared at each other and Q wondered how eyes could be so blue.

Neither of them said anything. Q was glad he wasn't alone anymore, and now, unafraid he would wake Bond up, he was free to touch. He used to touch his parents all the time and they touched him when he was small, but all the years in the sanctuary left him unused to physical contact, hence the reason he acted so jumpy when Bond touched him the previous day. But then, when he touched his arm by lunch, and later when they trained, he realized that touching was something he really enjoyed, and didn't see a reason why he shouldn't express his affection towards Bond by brushing the tips of his fingers along his neck and up to his face.

For his part, Bond seemed stunned and confused. As Q's hand continued on to touch his lips, he felt him shiver. But by this point, Q was truly fascinated. Bond's skin was so much rougher than his, and also so much colder. There was a stubble on his chin and jaws that scratched at Q's fingertips and that was sending strange little prickles down his arm, like the rays of the sun if Bond was a sun. And when he touched his mouth, Bond's breath blew over his hand.

“Q…” Bond said. Q's middle finger touched the inside of his lips while they parted to say that simple name, and Bond shivered again, his hot breath leaving him in a sigh. Then he tried again. “Q, you shouldn't be touching me.”

Q blinked a few times and then drew his hand back, embarrassed. He didn't know why, but he did something wrong again, and he expected a punishment. But when Bond touched him, it was soft, his fingers propping up his chin so he would look up at him.

“It's just that… touching leads to other things,” Bond explained with a hesitant expression upon his features. “And you are too young and too lost for that.”

“What things?” Q asked, and when Bond winced, trying to come up with words, he asked: “Mating?”

He knew about mating. It was one of the things that were expected of him if he was ever let into another bird's cage. He escaped while being sold off to someone who would use him exactly for that, and back then it seemed like the worst thing that could happen to him, because it would mean he would be forced to share space with a stranger and because he would be creating more prisoners. But now… even though he wasn't sure how it worked… that idea didn't sound that horrible.

Bond's eyes snapped up at him and he swallowed before answering. “Yes.”

“I'm in a ripe age,” Q repeated the words he heard his captors say around him several times while discussing it. But he knew that was the wrong thing to say when he saw Bond's scowl.

“You don't even know what you're talking about, do you?” he asked and Q could feel the hope in his voice, so he truthfully nodded in agreement. “You are a child, Q,” Bond went on. “You should be a child. You might have not had a childhood, but that doesn't mean you can't be innocent for just a bit longer.”

Q nodded again and Bond stopped frowning at him.

“Good. Could you please go outside for a moment? I'll have to put on some clothes.”

He complied, wondering what it was that Bond had with clothes, and if it was a human thing. He was still in the trousers from the day before, and felt really restricted. 

When Bond emerged from his room a minute later, wearing the same trousers he did the day before and a different t shirt, he looked alert and guarded in a way he didn't look before, and Q briefly regretted that he went through that change. Maybe next morning he could sneak into his room sooner…

Bond had a huge breakfast – when Q gave him an amazed look, he explained that to upkeep his strength and all the body mass he had, he needed more food than was normally available to him, and said that Q should eat more too if he didn't want to look like a celery stick. 

After Q ate something with Bond, they took a break for the food to settle and then went outside to train. Bond showed Q exercises for different parts of his body, which Q didn't remember all, and then they started experimenting with his wings. Bond explained that maybe if Q exercised regularly and made his wings stronger, flying would be easier for him, and Q didn't have anything to lose by listening to him. When they thought of four different exercised just for his wings (including one where Q literally lay down and tried to push himself up with his wings only), Q's headache got worse and they finally retreated to the house where he had a nap. While he was asleep, Bond set up a chart of exercises Q would be doing, every second day of the week. 

Q didn't mind the long hours they spent in the house, he was used to empty days, but he could see that Bond was getting restless. He was pacing the house like a caged animal – and Q should know, he's seen a few of them. Bond needed an outlet, and not even the training tired him enough to just sit in front of the fire like Q did. Q felt bad for that. It was a very new, very unfamiliar sensation – he never before had any reason to feel empathy for humans, or for anyone for that matter, but it seemed to bother him a lot. So it was just a matter of time before he cracked.

“I think you should take me to that park,” he said while sitting at the kitchen table, watching Bond make dinner. 

“That is the plan,” Bond just agreed idly, his back to Q.

“I mean tomorrow. I'm ready.”

Bond turned with a frown, holding a piece of cheese. He blinked a few times, averted his eyes, made some calculations in his head Q couldn't follow.

“I know you are bored,” Q went on quickly. “If I'm the only reason why you're staying here, you shouldn't worry about me anymore. I'll be fine. You showed me how to get stronger and I'm almost healed.”

Bond took a moment to consider, still frowning subtly, but then he nodded and took a breath. “Yes, alright. If you think that's best for you, we can go there tomorrow,” he said, and Q couldn't help himself but wonder if Bond maybe enjoyed being with him.

To be perfectly honest, it had slipped his mind. Worry. That Bond was just another captor, for whatever reason, and that he would never let him go. It was just a fleeing thought, in the back of his mind, but it was constant. People like Bond didn't exist in Q's world. He either had to accept that what he thought about humans was wrong, or keep his guards up and hopes down in case that wasn't the case.

He supposed he would find out tomorrow. Unfortunately, if Bond DID turn out to be a monster, Q had no way of escaping him – he was way too strong and quick, and Q still couldn't fly, so running from him would be impossible. Unless he hurt him… yes, maybe he should hunt down a weapon…

He immediately felt bad for thinking that way. Bond has shown him nothing but kindness. He didn't deserve Q's coldness.

Their day went on in a similar fashion as it started, calm and boring. Bond read to Q again, and Q had the presence of mind to walk to his bed before he collapsed from tiredness. His head got worse with evening's arrival, but not as bad as it was the day before, so he was fairly certain he was ready to leave this nest.

 

 

They left the house at noon. It took them a while to pack all the food and the things Bond bought and move them to the car. They had a big breakfast and then left the cabin for good.

Bond felt strangely sad as he locked the door and put the key under the rug, as he promised the owner on the phone. He was happy about leaving the country, going home, he was already fantasizing about the chippy down the road that made the best mushed peas and he bloody missed the rain, as crazy as that sounded, and he was glad that he'll escape the boredom that was making him twitchy. But looking at Q, his sadness deepened and beat the happiness to a pulp. He was worried for the young hybrid. Worried and already aching for him, knowing that this is nothing compared to what he'll feel on the plane home.

Q had troubles getting into the small car, even after Bond lowered the seat's backrest until a normal person could lie on it. Fortunately, the ride was short so Q wouldn't be uncomfortable for long.

As Bond started the engine, the radio turned on and Q was immediately fascinated. Bond cringed a little at the choice of songs from the station that was tuned in, but didn't have the heart to start looking for a different one after seeing the look of pure wonder on the hybrid's face. Q spent the whole two hours in the car listening to the music with wide eyes and a small smile, and Bond was glad he didn't have to make small talk. He would be rubbish at it right now, anyway.

In the end, he had to turn the radio off. They just crossed the entry to the park and in a short while it would be impossible to get anywhere with a car. All around them was beautiful nature, forests and hills wherever they could see. Suddenly, Bond didn't want to leave Q here, didn't want him to stay alone in the wild where he would have to avoid any sight of people because of his own safety, and he feared he would be captured again. In the morning, Q told him everything he remembered about the sanctuary where they kept him, and Bond was determined to destroy it with the help of MI6. But that didn't mean hybrids would be safe. Not in this world.

“I could drive you to a real sanctuary, a good one,” he said to Q, but he knew that the hybrid would never get anywhere near such a place ever again, and the look on his face just confirmed it.

“You will be alone,” he explained, looking into Q's hazel eyes. “You could never talk to people again. Hunt your own food. Are you sure you're prepared for that?”

“I'll be free,” Q said, smiling a little. “That's all I need.”

Bond sighed but had to let go of his fears. Q was right. Hopefully, he will be fine.

Bond was tempted to just lie to himself for the rest of his life, telling himself that Q WAS fine.

“Here,” he reached to the back seat and picked up a bag of all the food they didn't eat plus the exercise plan. At least if Q was strong, he would have chance fighting off predators and possible kidnappers. “Take this, I won't need it.”

Q looked at the bag, then at Bond, and there was something in his eyes, something fragile and grateful. The next thing he knew, the hybrid, with surprising speed, launched into his space and kissed him.

It was an inexperienced, quick kiss, but Bond never liked a kiss more in his life. When he blinked his eyes open, Q was blushing, looking down at the bag.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then took the bag from Bond's hand and opened the door.

“Goodbye, James,” he said and the door closed behind him. Bond watched as he made his way to the first row of trees he saw and then disappeared in the forest.

He sat there for another few minutes, shaking away the shock, and then started the engine and drove the car in the direction of Washington, to get on a plane and away from this crazy country.


End file.
